The Draykon Series (1-3)

Lokant: Chapter Thirty-Five

***

Aysun had never run so fast in his life. The distance from his home to the city's main infirmary was not inconsiderable, but he never hesitated. Ignoring Rufin's gasped protests stuttering on from behind him, he powered on.

It had taken no time at all to learn what had happened. The minute he emerged from his house, a neighbour had descended on him in a flurry of wings and excitement. She had badly garbled the recent events in her haste, but he had understood enough.

It took twenty minutes of hard running to reach the infirmary's gates. He didn't pause to explain his errand to the desk clerk; he merely gasped his wife's name.

The clerk's eyes widened. 'Second floor. Room thirty-two.'

Aysun ran on. He skipped the new-built elevator in favour of the stairs. At last he burst into room thirty-two, limbs burning and chest heaving, with Rufin not far behind.

He found two beds, both containing a wan and still occupant. One of them was Ynara, her normally vibrant skin drained of colour and her eyes closed.

In the other bed lay his daughter, her state alarmingly similar.

Pensould sat in a chair beside Llandry's bed, holding one of her limp hands in his own. He too looked drained, dark circles staining the stark white skin beneath eyes that stood out harshly in his exhausted face.

'What happened?' The words came out louder than Aysun intended.

'We did a healing,' Pensould said. His voice was weak and he struggled to breathe properly. 'She went too far. I warned her, but...' He shook his head. He was gripping Llandry's hand hard, Aysun noticed, his knuckles white with effort. It was as if he intended to hold Llandry to life by sheer force of will.

Perhaps that was exactly what he was doing.

'Are they...?' Aysun couldn't say the words.

'They're both alive. But their - our - life-energy was used up in fixing, and mending, and - and -' He paused to breathe, slow, laboured breaths drawn with a struggle. 'They - have not enough left for consciousness. Maybe not enough to live.'

For a moment Aysun said nothing, merely gulped in air. For once, Rufin had no facetious comment to make. He stared at the two still forms, mute.

'What can I do?' Aysun said, when he had breath enough for speech.

'Nothing,' Pensould returned dully. Then his eyes sharpened and he gazed keenly at Aysun. 'Or perhaps...' His gaze flicked to Rufin. 'Him I cannot use, but you! Yes, it makes sense. Draykoni at heart, both of you. Of course you would be, it is why she is one of us...'

The man rambled, his utterances incoherent and nonsensical to Aysun. Frustration flooded him. His wife and daughter needed help; Pensould merely sounded insane.

'Pensould. If you have a way to help them, then please. Get on with it.'

'It might be enough.' The words were rasped, spoken by a soul pushed almost beyond endurance. Pensould lunged at him suddenly, and Aysun jumped as the man's free hand fastened around his wrist, hard.

'What -' Aysun had no time to say anything else. He felt pulled, all his strength and vitality suddenly sucked out of him with a force that drove him to his knees. Pensould's grip on his arm hurt, so much he feared the man might break the bone, but Aysun hadn't the breath to object. Now he understood how Pensould had felt moments before. Breathing was enough of a challenge; talking could wait.

He didn't understand what was happening. He heard Rufin curse behind him and then the gunman's hands were pulling at him, dragging him away from Pensould.